Ole Bettman’s taken all my dough,And left me in this stately home,Lazing on a sunny afternoon.And I can't sail my yacht,He's taken everything I got,All I've got's this sunny afternoon.

Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.I got all these owners trying to break me.And I love to live so pleasantly,Live this life of luxury,Lazing on a sunny afternoon.In a summertimeIn a summertimeIn a summertime

My latest groupie’s run off with my car,And gone back to her ma and pa,Telling tails of drunkenness and cruelty.Now I'm sitting here,Sipping at my ice cold beer,Lazing on a sunny afternoon.

Help me, help me, help me stay away,Well give me two good reasons why I oughta play.'Cause I love to live so pleasantly,Live this life of luxury,Lazing on a sunny afternoon.In a summertimeIn a summertimeIn a summertime

Ah, save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.I got all these owners trying to break me.And I love to live so pleasantly,Live this life of luxury,Lazing on a sunny afternoon.In a summertimeIn a summertimeIn a summertime...

You’re a mean one Mr Buttman You really are a heel.You're a nasty lying lawyer,And as charming as an eel,Mr. Buttman!You are as bad, as wartWith a greasy black feel!You're a monster, Mr. Buttman!Your heart's an empty hole.You have no brain for hockey.You've got resentment in your soul,Mr. Buttman!no wonder your mother wouldn't touch youWith a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!You're a vile one, Mr. Buttman!You have beady black eyes.You have all the tender sweetnessOf a union busting pig in disguise,Mr. Buttman!Given the similarity between the two of you,it’s no shocking surprise!You're a foul one, Mr. Buttman!You're a nasty, wasty skunk!You’re a receptacle for the owners socks. So loaded full of gunk,Mr. Buttman!The four words that best describe youAre as follows, and I quote,"Is, A, Little, Prick!"You're a bastard, Mr. Buttman!You run the league like its slots!Your heart's a deadly cancer,Splotched with moldy, purple spots,Mr. Buttman!Your soul is an apalling dung-heap,Overflowing with the most disgracefulFranchises in places unimaginable,Mangled-up with laser pucks!You nauseate me, Mr. Buttman!What a nauseous super lackey!You've screwed up the game of hockey,And you drive a crooked bargain,Mr. Buttman!You're a short little man no taller than a toadstoolyou’re a penis shooting blanksand a pecker with arsenic sauce!